The Substance of Shadows
by rubyliss
Summary: Derek and the wolves try to save an injured Stiles. Speculation on 2 x 12 episode. Someone posted this idea on tumblr, I'm sorry, I don't remember who it was. But credit for the idea goes to that person. One shot. Complete.


**Title:** The Substance of Shadows

**By: **Ruby Lis

**Pairing: **Sterek (More of making a connection than a relationship).

**Summary:** Derek and the wolves try to save an injured Stiles. (Speculation on 2 x 12 episode.) Someone posted this idea on tumblr, I'm sorry, I don't remember who it was. But credit for the idea goes to that person.

**Warning: **Some references to violence.

**Rating: **PG-13-should be suitable for most people.

**Disclaimer: **Teen Wolf and its characters belong to Jeff Davis and MTV. The story is mine but there are quotes from the show interspersed in the story. Apologies if I didn't get the wording of the quotes exactly right.

**Dedicated to Aetheriata-thanks for your help!**

* * *

Piercing.

Mournful.

Fiercely protective even though it's too late to protect anyone.

Derek Hale has heard the grief howl only once before in his life…the night of the fire when he'd run to the moon, thrown back his head and let the wolf's throat voice his sorrow. His hackles prickle, wary. The Argents are gone, taking their dead-Gerard-and wounded-Allison-with them in a forced retreat from their own home. Derek stills, waits, scents the air for their return. Nothing.

His eyes scan the downstair rooms. Everything's a chaos of shadows and light from shattered lamps and broken windows. Isaac. Erica. Boyd. He ticks his pack off one by one silently in his head as each of the wolves stumble to his side. They're all here. Bloody. Bruised. Alive.

Again, the howl. Derek shudders, the sound vibrating through him. Everyone's here except…_Scott_ his mind finally fills in who's missing. _Where's-?_

"…Stiles…"

_Stiles?_ Derek frowns when Isaac's soft voice interrupts his thoughts. _Stiles isn't pack, _he thinks dismissively, even as Isaac and the rest of his pups are already loping down the hallway that leads to the basement stairs. Irritated, he rolls his eyes and follows. Stiles is background noise. Static. The constant interference whenever Derek tries to convince Scott to join him. In the world of werewolves, Stiles has no more impact than a substanceless shadow.

Derek slows his descent on the stairs as he takes in the scene that has his wolves huddled and quietly whimpering.

Scott covers Stiles protectively, one arm flung over the smaller teen's body, face buried against his chest, shaking.

It's strange, Derek thinks, to see the animated teenager suddenly hushed and motionless. Pale lips. Ashen skin. The slack muscles of his lanky frame oddly awkward, stilled into gracelessness as he sprawls where he was thrown. Dark, wet stains seep into the basement floor under him. Derek's jaw tightens. He tries not to think of how many times Stiles was slammed against the concrete.

Scott growls softly as Derek and his pack approach. When Isaac moves a little too fast, comes a little too close, Scott lunges forward, growl deepening, teeth drawing blood in a warning nip. Isaac yips and falls back on his heels in an uncertain crouch.

"Scott, please. I want to help." Isaac crawls forward slowly, head lowered, submissive, one hand stretching out. "Like at the vet's office-with the dog."

Scott raises his head, eyes desperate. "What if it doesn't work?"

Isaac slides his hand along Scott's, both of their palms flat against Stiles' bare chest. "What if it does?"

"He isn't pack." Derek's voice rumbles sternly. "We have our own injuries to take care of."

"You're wrong. He isn't a wolf, but he is one of us." Isaac's voice shakes only a little as he tests how much defiance his alpha is willing to allow. "My first full moon, he tried to rescue me."

"Me, too." Erica moves to Stiles' side and seats herself on the floor near Scott. She places a hand on the unconscious teen's calf. "After the Kanima tried to kill me." Those words are enough to persuade Boyd to join them as well. He takes a position across from Erica, mirroring her as he lays a palm on Stiles' other leg.

Scott's eyes flash, a silent plea to Derek that doesn't quite cross the line into a challenge. "Two hours in the pool, Derek. Two _friggin' _hours."

Wordlessly, Derek yanks his shirt off, tosses it aside and drops to the floor.

"Dude…?"

"Healing is stronger with skin to skin contact."

Quickly, Scott follows Derek's example and shrugs out of what's left of his lacrosse jersey and pads. When he's finished, he sees the other wolves have ditched their clothing as well. Erica is starting to unfasten her bra when Scott clears his throat and uncomfortably mumbles that he thinks she'll be fine leaving it on. She smirks but nods.

Derek slides his hands under Stiles' shoulders, lifts his upper body then scoots in behind him so that he's carrying the weight against his own body. He's careful to guide Stilinski's head onto his shoulder so it's supported. He nods to his pack and Scott. They close in again, bodies and hands pressing against the injured teen.

Scott half expects his best friend to open his eyes, take in all the bare skin pressed to his and make a joke about finally getting happy times. Nothing happens.

Scott breathes in and out slowly, concentrating, focusing his energy into Stiles. He senses the other wolves. There's a sudden, collective gasp as they connect, their amplified strength finding every injury at once, overwhelming them. Allison's arrow broke Stiles' leg. Scott winces at that. One of the Argent men broke his ribs. Another stunned him with some kind of electric prod.

But it's Gerard who was the most ruthless. Gerard who grabbed Stiles by the throat after everyone else had attacked and dragged him half-stumbling towards the basement. Gerard who shoved him down the stairs. It's Gerard who stood over Stiles, grimly satisfied at the crumpled heap at his feet.

And it's Gerard that Stiles finally turned on and attacked. That image startles Scott into snarling a "Yes!" under his breath, approving of Stilinski rearing up and sinking his teeth into the elder Argent's thigh. Not the target he had aimed for but it was something. The momentary triumph fades quickly.

Because it's Gerard's violent kick that sent Stiles off the last riser of stairs, head and back smacking against the concrete floor.

The image fades and another forms as Derek reaches out to connect with his pack and Scott. There's a reason he's the alpha. His energy both calms and strengthens the wolves. He fills their minds with one thought: Gerard is dead. The thought is quickly followed with the still fresh memory of Derek savaging Gerard's throat. The scent of blood and death still heavy in their nostrils. There's an unspoken, shared satisfaction.

As the alpha, he refocuses their efforts, assigning the wolves specific areas to treat. Scott and Isaac focus on the broken ribs and collapsed lung. Erica takes care of the arrow in his leg. Boyd

acts as a general boost to Stiles' immune system, working to help his body heal itself.

Derek treats Stilinski's head injuries. He stops the bleeding, internal and external, and carefully manages to bring his brain swelling down. He's not a doctor. He doesn't know if the human will fully recover, but to the wolf in him everything feels right. He checks the others. They're making progress, too. And because he is who he is, he rechecks his own work, too.

This time, Derek senses a knot of pain different from the other injuries. Older but fresher, too. He frowns at the contradiction. Layers of hurt. Emotional pain then, not physical. He starts to pull away but, remembering Kate's verbal abuse, stops. He knows firsthand the emotional trauma an Argent is willing to inflict.

They've committed to healing Stiles and Derek doesn't do things halfway. Reluctantly, he lets his power brush across the teenager's mind. He flinches, surprised when a flash of memory flares to life.

_…trust us…fine, trust him…_

Derek remembers that moment, too. Scott had arrived at the Ironworks and helped him escape from the police. And Stiles, he admits grudgingly. Stiles poking his head between the car seats so he wouldn't miss a word said between the alpha and Scott. Derek had given him a dark look. _Glared, actually. _Subdued, Stiles had withdrawn to the back seat.

_That hurt him?_ Derek laughs softly to himself in disbelief. He never hurt Stiles. Not really. Still, he touches on the memory again and there's a moment-a look in the young man's eyes just before he scoots back that bothers him.

It wasn't the only time. It's as if opening that memory sets off a chain reaction. The vet's office when Derek almost lost his arm. Stiles' room when he lied to his dad to hide Derek. The pool. And all of the moments in between when Derek had barely acknowledged the teen much less given him a friendly nod or even a "thank you."

Derek isn't sure what's happening. Either Stiles is too weak to keep his thoughts from being affected by werewolf magic or somehow they're able to share memories they've both experienced. Maybe it's a combination. Maybe that would explain why the separate experiences Stilinski's had with Scott, Isaac, Erica and Boyd are bleeding over into everyone's mind.

_I had the biggest crush on you._

…_stopped to bake it in a little werewolf oven. _

…_other words with the "fuh" sound…_

And doesn't it irritate the alpha in Derek to realize that Stiles has a stronger connection to his wolves than he does. Derek forced them into a pack; Stiles gathered them into a family. Family. He's been so obsessed with surviving he hasn't been living. An old, almost forgotten longing stirs in Derek.

He hears Scott's heartbeat quicken, smells his scent sharpen and opens his eyes.

"Something's wrong." Scott's hand lingers on Stilinski's chest, studying a face almost as familiar to him as his own.

Derek stills, eyes sharp, ears pricking up, hackles rising. "What is it?"

"I-I don't know but-" Scott shakes his head, worry edging into panic. "-look, I don't know if I can explain it but-whatever it is that makes Stiles who he is-it's not here."

"Maybe he needs an anchor, too." Isaac offers quietly. He chews his lip thoughtfully and then his eyes light up with a thought. "Championship game, Stiles. We won. _You_ won."

There's a…something. A reaction of some kind that sends a shiver along their pelts. Derek holds Stiles more firmly against his chest, sealing them together skin to skin, strengthening their connection. Again, Scott follows his lead. He wraps his arm around Stilinski's waist, presses his cheek in to listen to his friend's heartbeat.

"Lydia is so proud of you." Scott laughs with relief when Stiles shudders and draws in a deep breath. "Your dad saw you win, dude."

Isaac blinks back tears, wishing he could have heard these words himself. "Your dad's really proud of you, too."

"C'mon, Batman, can't leave your Catwoman waiting." Erica adds teasingly.

They all feel a surge of energy as Stiles' innate defenses kick back in. He's healing. Shutting them out of his mind. Derek waits until the rest of the wolves break away, lingering until the last second before Stiles moves to block him as well. _I'm proud of you, Stiles._

* * *

"Yo, Bambi breath, we're here!" Stiles yells out, announcing their arrival at the Hale house. He throws Scott a smirk. He knows full well that Derek and his pack would have heard his clunky Jeep long before they pulled up. He shoulders his lacrosse stick and quickens his stride to catch up to his best friend. "You're sure about this?"

Scott adjusts his padding, jerking his uniform into place. "I'm sure."

"Lacrosse and werewolves?"

"I think he wants to make it some kind of bonding exercise for the pack."

Stiles licks his lips. "So why am I here again?"

"Because an alpha wolf asked you to be here." Derek's voice growls softly from the shadows.

"Alrighty, then, so I guess Scott and I can team up with-

"No." Derek interrupts quickly, decisively.

"No." Stiles' grip on his stick tightens and there's the flicker of hurt in his eyes that Derek knows all too well now. "Of course not. Because of course the big, bad alpha wants Scott on _his_ team."

"Scott didn't win the championship game. You did." Derek flashes a wolfishly smug grin. "And I play to win." He stalks off towards the makeshift lacrosse field in the back yard.

"Wait. What?" Stiles frowns, puzzled, then looks to Scott for clarification. "Did he just pick me over you?" He watches as Derek looks back expectantly. "He picked me over you." Stiles breaks into a wide grin and whoops as he runs to catch up to his new teammate.

The End.


End file.
